


The Undercover Job

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, Prison Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26791387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Peter had managed to put Neal away for four years, but now the time was ticking down. Very soon he would be out and up to his old tricks. Peter concocts a desperate plan to keep his nemesis in check.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & Clinton Jones, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	The Undercover Job

Clinton Jones had lobbied for a job in the White Collar division of the FBI under the auspices of the well-respected Peter Burke. Now that he had been given that opportunity, he intended to do whatever it took to become a valued member of the team. Of course, he was low man on the totem pole, so he was a bit surprised when Agent Burke called him into his office one morning.

“Jones, you seem to be a dedicated, gung-ho kind of guy, and your efforts haven’t gone unnoticed,” Agent Burke began the discussion.

“I try to be proactive, Sir,” Jones replied deferentially.

“Well, I have something in mind for you, but you can always decline,” Burke said as a preamble. “Have you ever done any undercover work?”

“No, Sir, I haven’t, but that’s something that I could learn,” Clinton quickly answered.

“Uh huh,” Burke replied mildly. “This undercover op means going to prison, Agent Jones, so that fact may have you re-thinking your answer.”

“Could you be a little more specific, Sir?” a confused probie wanted to know.

“Sure,” Burke agreed. “You may not remember, but not long after you started here, we managed to take down an annoying forger named Neal Caffrey. He got sent away for four years in Sing Sing.”

“I remember—I was in on the arrest,” Jones replied.

“Well, we nabbed him for bond forgery, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. He got four years, and his sentence is going to be up soon. Then he’ll get out and pick up right where he left off. Criminals like him don’t get rehabilitated; they just learn new tricks from other inmates. So, before the prison system cuts him loose, I’d like to get more goods on him to keep him behind bars.”

“And you also don’t like loose ends, do you, Sir?” Jones boldly remarked.

“Nope, that little twerp messed with my closure stats,” Peter admitted.

“So, you want me to go in and buddy up with him and maybe get him talking,” Jones accurately surmised.

“Bragging is a more apt term. Caffrey’s got an ego and he’s more than just a forger. You can be the attentive audience for any stories you can get him to tell. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I’ve approached the warden. He’s willing to move Caffrey from a single cell to a double, and we can wire it for sound. We’ll have you sent in as his new cellmate, then it’s all on you to work your magic.”

“What if he remembers me from that time in the storage locker?” Jones asked a logical question.

“I was the one in his face that day,” Burke replied smugly. “The only other person he had eyes for was that girlfriend of his. You were just an anonymous blur in a sea of SWAT.”

“So, when I go in, do you want me to be a sympathetic ear or a menacing danger?” Clinton wanted to know.

“I’ll leave that to your discretion,” Burke replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The following week, Neal had been rousted from his small cell with its tic-marked walls right before lights-out. The guard handed him a cardboard box for his meager personal items and then prodded him down two levels to where the larger cells housing two inmates were located. The tight-lipped escort merely opened the door to one without an explanation. Neal found himself coming face to face with a bearded African-American man lying on the bottom bunk with his well-muscled arms tucked casually behind his head. The unfamiliar occupant scrutinized Neal from head to toe and snorted.

“I guess this candy-assed little dude is going to be my roomie,” he sneered. “Can’t say he looks very intimidating.”

“Shut up, Boz,” the guard snapped. “Now, you two play nice,” he added as the metal door clanked shut.

Neal stared at the smirking man before him and smiled. “Boz ….” he murmured softly. “Interesting handle. Is that your choice for an alias?”

Jones stood up and looked Caffrey in the eye. “It’s not an alias. It’s short for Bozwell, my last name. I’m Jamal Bozwell, fresh out of Chicago.”

“So, _Jamal Bozwell_ , what brings you to this little piece of heaven?” Caffrey asked as he leaned nonchalantly against the cinder block wall, looking bemused rather than frightened.

Jones shrugged. “Had some business in the Big Apple, but things got fouled up and I had to get out of the city fast. Since I was in a time crunch, I had to ‘borrow’ some wheels. Then I got nabbed for grand theft auto and now find myself doing a dime up here in this god-forsaken fortress.”

“Bummer for you,” Neal said indifferently, “but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do when there’s a job involved.”

“So, what’s your story?” Jones pushed.

“Innocently prosecuted for forgery,” Neal smiled cynically. “Got nailed for four years, but I’m in the home stretch now.”

“C’mon, man, they don’t stick you in a high-security prison for paper-hanging. How come you aren’t in some Club Fed with the likes of other White Collar criminals?”

“I guess they think I’m special,” Neal answered glibly as he hoisted himself onto the top bunk and ignored the rest of Jones’ probing until, finally, the lights winked out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter Burke met with Jones two weeks after his “incarceration.” He had been listening to the daily wiretaps, but, so far, they had zip. “He’s playing it close to the vest,” the frustrated ASAC of White Collar complained. “He drop any hints outside those four walls?”

“Nah, he’s cagy,” Jones replied. “It’s almost like he’s playing his own sort of game.”

“So, tell me, what’s he’s like?” Burke couldn’t help being intrigued and curious.

Jones shrugged. “Caffrey’s a friggin’ choir boy. He hasn’t gotten himself affiliated with any gangs during his time here. The guards all seem to like and even trust him to some degree. He’s got a day job doing telemarketing along with other trustees. That takes place with about forty other men in one big room, all under the supervision of just one guard.”

“What knucklehead thought that giving Caffrey access to the Internet was a good idea?” Burke grumbled.

“That’s above my paygrade, Sir, but I know the clock is ticking down. So, do you want me to apply some pressure?” Jones asked. “Maybe come across as a little threatening and insist that he cut me in on some of the fruits of his past labors, or else he may regret not being more forthcoming.”

“That’s your call, Jones,” Peter said slowly, “but you realize you can’t carry through with any of your threats.”

“I’ll just wing it,” the undercover agent agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Listen up, Hot Shot, the grapevine in this joint is faster than a coffee klatch of bored housewives,” Jones whispered one night after light outs. “I’ve heard you were a busy boy before they finally busted you, and you managed to squirrel away a hoard of nuts.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Neal drawled.

“Well, if only half of what I heard is true, you’ll be sitting in the cat bird’s seat once you blow this place. Me, on the other hand—well, it’s a different story. I now find myself between a rock and a hard place. My lawyer says they’re trying to nail me with some associated business besides stealing that car, and certain palms have to be greased to keep that from happening. So, ya see, I’m sort of setting up a _‘Go Fund Me’_ type thing, and you could be the first to make a donation.”

“I can’t give you what I don’t have,” Neal answered.

“No, but you could tell me where your stash is. I have friends on the outside who could snag some of your stuff to fence,” Clinton kept pushing. “I heard you have paintings, gold coins, and gems all tucked away in your Aladdin’s Cave.”

“Not happening, my friend, because it’s all one big fantasy,” Caffrey said mildly.

“C’mon, Man, you got it, but maybe you just need a little incentive to part with it,” Jones made a subtle threat. “Trust me—you wouldn’t want to get on my bad side.”

“Do you really have a bad side, Jamal Bozwell?” Neal asked softly.

“If you don’t play ball, you just may find out,” Jones promised. “I have friends in high places.”

“I’ll just bet you do,” Neal answered neutrally, but Jones thought he detected a sort of sarcasm in those words.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter met once again with Jones at the prison. “I heard the threat; did it get you anywhere?” he asked hopefully.

Jones grimaced. “What it got me was a none too cordial visit from the head honcho of the Bloods. He made it very clear that I was to _‘lay off the white boy,’_ if I wanted to keep breathing.”

“I thought you said Caffrey wasn’t mixed up with any gang members,” Burke replied with a frown.

“It took some digging but I found out the link. Caffrey taught this scary gangsta how to read over the last couple of years, and even helped him get his GED. So, some very menacing inmates protect Caffrey by executive order of their boss man.”

“Caffrey’s like a cat,” Burke groused, “he always lands on his feet. I’m pulling you out, Jones. You were never supposed to be in some psychopath’s crosshairs while doing this undercover gig. It’s only a matter of a few months before Caffrey’s sentence is up. This was always a longshot, anyway.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal made those “few months” even shorter when he took an early lunch from Sing Sing Penitentiary. Peter Burke had been right. They never should have let him near a computer. However, his recapture was just as swift, so maybe his heart wasn’t in it. But then, Peter Burke was also correct when he claimed Neal Caffrey always landed on his feet, even if one of his feet now had a tracking anklet attached. Burke must have figured that more facetime with his nemesis might get him closer to proving past crimes.

The ASAC of the White Collar office brought his new partner into the inner sanctum and plunked him down in the bullpen a couple of desks away from Clinton Jones. Caffrey looked over, smiled, and gave his new FBI associate a little salute.

“Nice to see you again, Boz. I gotta say, losing the beard is a definite improvement. I know Peter can be overbearing, but you should be the one to decide how you want to look when you go undercover. I would have mentioned it when we shared a space, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Stop blowing smoke, Caffrey. You did _not_ know who I was!” Jones said forcefully.

Neal just continued to grin good naturedly. “I never forget a face, my friend, and even with the added facial hair, I remembered you from my initial arrest. You were the one who actually put the cuffs on me. I’ll admit that our little game of masquerade was fun and it helped pass the time. And what I now know is that Peter Burke doesn’t play fair, but I can’t complain because neither do I. Nonetheless, maybe I’ll be a good sport after all your trouble and I’ll toss you a bone to make you look good. Tell Peter both San Diego and Portland are intriguing cities.”

Later that evening, Clinton repeated those words to his boss. “He’s playing us,” Peter Burke sighed. “There’s probably nothing in either place and he just wants to have a good laugh watching us chase our tails.”

Jones agreed. “Yeah, I think he’s doing exactly that, and I hate to say this, but just maybe he’s out of our league!”


End file.
